


Bitch I'm A Cow

by NidoranDuran



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Breast Growth, Intelligence Reduction, Lactation Kink, Milking, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Science Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 13:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NidoranDuran/pseuds/NidoranDuran
Summary: A slip of a syringe turns Mercy's research into bovine hormone treatment in medicine into a frightening descent as her body grows and changes in ways that make her more like a cow herself, and which send her mind spiraling into directions that crave things she shouldn't crave from herself. Anonymous commission.





	Bitch I'm A Cow

Day 1

Greetings. I am Doctor Angela Ziegler, and you are reading a live dictation of my research notes, chronicling my experiment, the Bovine Hormone Therapy and Enrichment Program. As with all first day dictations, the purpose of this log is simply to gloss over the process and explain what this project is. I dictate all of my notes so that I have them to refer back to, for lack of any assistants in the lab at the moment, and so that they may serve as a companion to the papers I will be writing once these are completed, showing a deeper look into my methodology and my processes than I am able to convey in something meant for publication. I hope that, should you be reading these, you will find them helpful to your understanding of my process, as I believe this to be one of the most ambitious projects I have ever undertaken.

The primary purpose of this research is to build on the back of what I have already done in the work of isolating and experimenting on bovine hormones, and I recommend referring to my paper, Isolating the Human Vectors for Bovine Hormone In Medicine And Opening Possibilities for Cross-Mammalian Treatments to learn more about that work. My work will be centered around the use of treated samples I have ready for use in a myriad of ways, as I treat synthesized human elements with them. In these first stages, I will be experimenting only on lab-grown samples of human tissue and on certain bacteria I believe can be treated through the implementation of these hormones.

My belief in the capacity of bovine hormones is rooted in the [...]

Day 4

[...] importance of careful hands in the lab as much as in the operating room, lest you have an incident where a sample is--shit! Fuck, I--ah, no. No, do not, ah! I have stabbed myself with a syringe full of hormone samples. It is--ha ha, I cannot believe, so quickly off of the things I said about safety and control in a lab environment that I would do such a thing.

I do, however, believe these hormones to be non-toxic, and so I will not be stressing the matter at all. A mild pain at worst, but I will be okay. It is only a pin prick, I have suffered much worse and lived. I will be okay, I will simply clean the wound, sterilize, and bandage it. It is my firm belief I will suffer no untoward consequences of this, as I continue my research. At worst I am simply down a sizable amount of processed sample, and I will need to work to acquire more sooner than expected. But I will be okay. What is important is this experiment, and I have faith in not only the powers of this for good, but in its safety to human beings, so I will hold firm in those convictions.

Day 5

After careful examination and sleeping with measurements of my vitals constantly being monitored, I have assessed that I am perfectly fine. My accident yesterday has proven to only that; an accident. I lost some sample, but I am otherwise without any worry for my health or my well being. I will continue to move on with my experiments, which continue to be of the utmost importance I will make sure to indicate any changes of them in these recordings, should any symptoms or problems emerge; these are, after all, not rigid scientific documentations of anything. If you have pushed on through all of my ramblings and speeches, then you can handle updates. These logs simply keep me from talking entirely to myself and losing my mind.

With that said, the efforts of today will be [...]

Day 6 

[...] Oh, why is this seat so uncomfortable? I find myself changing position every few minutes, and my body feels like it is in the way of my arms like it never has been before. I... Hm. My breasts do feel tender today. Perhaps larger than normal, which is not an expected sign of anything, particularly given my period is still so distant, but it is probably my mind own getting to me. Nothing mooore than that. Hm. Why did I say it like--no, this is nothing. I am putting myself through so much stress. As I am sure many reading this know, it can be agonizing to sit in a lab by yourself for days on end. I work best alone, but it is sometimes an arduous and lonely job, one that leaves me constantly wishing for human contact and for someone to talk to.

Sure, I am well. Perfectly fine. My continued moonitoring of my vitals has proven to be fine, I am simply too frustrated to be able to think clearly. It is not the first time I have had psychosomatic symptoms in the wake of stress when I am so deep in my experimentation. However, if anything does come up, I will note it here.

Day 13

I may not have been entirely honest about the matter of self-reporting my situation. I have been silent on these, but today I begin my log with a confession. For a week now, I have felt more than simply tenderness in my breasts. Each morning, I awaken to find that they are bigger than they were when I went to bed. My bras no longer contain my breasts anymore, and my clothes struggle to handle them, even as elastic as they are. It has not stopped, and I am going up a cup size roughly every two days, with no sign of stopping. It is a frightening thought that I may no longer be able to contain them soon, and I am worried that somehow, this is related to the bovine hormones I accidentally injected myself with, for lack of anything else it could be.

Mooore over than that is, well, you can probably see it already. I've found myself mooing in words that contain an 'm o' in them. Mooore. Mooove. Hemoooglobin. In a call with a possible investor, I described the process by which this treatment may slow leukemia, but said 'leukemooogenesis' and was horribly embarrassed. It is not a verbal tic I find myself in any form of active control over, as much as I seek to keep myself under some sense of understanding and reason; it is simply becoming harder and harder for me to contain the frustrations and emotions that take hold of me.

In spite of all of these problems, I need to continue my work. It sounds ludicrous, I know, but it is of the utmost importance that I do not stop my research. So many lives could be saved if I can push further with these experiments, and so I am going to keep this log a secret for the time being. It is a danger to my research, but I cannot just stop recording it; talking helps me stay sane. So I will maintain this recording as a document of my activities, and to chart the progression of this condition, hoping that it is fundamentally reversible and a side-effect of a very extreme accidental dose, and not a danger to my work as a whole.

Day 15

Not only are my breasts growing at an expected rate, but I am noticing a tightness in my pants, now. My thighs are beginning to grow larger too, and I feel dull aches at my tailbone and in the sides of my head, feeling like they are at the bone level. I do not know for sure what they are, but mooore time is not doing me much good; I am now shifting the focus of my experiments toward trying to reverse these effects, as I fear that my changes are becoming more overt and dangerous by the second. It is to my absolute shame that I now seek to cure myself of this shameful ailment, and I am not sure that there is much hope of staying on track with my research as I sought to perform it.

The current assessment of my state: breasts are enlarging, thighs are thickening, verbal tics are emerging, and I am feeling worrisome pains in places that indicate other forms of growth soon to come. Anyone would be hard pressed to deny the ways in which these symptoms track with the traits of cows. Loathe as I am to admit it, the only way I can process this situation is to say that I am becoming a cow woman. It is a frightening prospect, made all the more worrisome by the fact that I am on my own in trying to solve it, unable to jeopardize my research by revealing this state to anybody else, and there is no medical literature on how to even cure such a situation as I'm in now. All I am able to do is hope that there is a swift solution here.

Day 18

Testing continues to prove fruitless as I approach simply trying to figure out what is happening to me. I cannot even find a way to replicate the effects of what happened with lab-grown cells, which show little response at all. I have only a faint few more tests I can run, and beyond that, I will be starting tomorrow on experimenting with my own cells to see if I can produce some manner of reaction. I'm running out of options, and that frightens me. My breasts are starting to hasten in their growth, I am worried that even my most flexible of clothing will no longer be able to handle it any longer. I can feel bumps where the aches in my head and my back remain, and I remain intimidated by the dangers of what will happen if I cannot reverse these issues before they begin.

Day 18, five hours later

Moore than challenging my clothing, my breasts are now producing milk. I did not realize it at first, but I felt an odd dampness through the day that I assumed to be sweat, until I disrobed, only to discover my breasts dripping with white. My nipples have become larger, puffier, and they drip with milk. I am lactating, growing even closer now to being a cow, to this transformation's dark side. I remain clueless as to how to control this and how to spare myself this continued embarrassment, and producing milk has not had a positive effect on my view of this situation or my outlook. As it stands, I am forced to isolate myself mooore and moore in a vain attempt to mitigate the worst of this, but I fear it will only get worse. My quest to halt these effects grows moore vital with each passing second I spend struggling with these dangers.

So I will go to sleep, and hope that in the moorning, my body has not further changed from what it was.

Day 20

I am not wearing a top today. My breasts no longer comfortably fit inside of my clothes. Even by the end of yesterday I could feel the tightness proving too much to bear, so now, I sit with my newly ample, buxom chest open, and do my best to work around it. Such a thing is easier said than done, given the ways in which I am struggling now against how they get in the way of my arms. It is difficult to perform tasks and to lean forward to look in the microscope or to write notes; they sit on the desk, squish down, get in the way. I have gone my whole life with moodest breasts and have been fine with my body. Now, they are almooost as big as my head and still they continue. They drip milk regularly now, and I have placed an order for a milking machine so that I can attempt to alleviate the pressure off of them. This is becoming too much to bear, and still, I remain ever further from a cure.

Day 21 

All of the changes in my body up to this point have been subtle. My breasts continue to grow, but today, the pains in me resolved themselves in ways that terrify me. My ears are no longer my own, now droopy and bovine, the same colour as my hair, slightly furry, but with brown spots on them. From my back, a long brown tail now waves and wags, and while I have already been struggling to contain my wider thighs and hips within my chair, the tail now makes it untenable; I have resorted to stools, but my big fat cow ass is--

No, I am sorry. I have no idea why I... My buttocks struggle to remain on the chair. I am a woman of curves now, and all I long for is to return to something manageable, as my frustrations sink further into worry and into a certainty that nothing will work. My body is showing signs that I worry will start to become mental as well; how much moore can I take on the traits of a cow physically before my mind starts to go? My research is still so important, but it feels as though every step of the way I become just a little bit mooore unsure of the direction that I am taking with these attempts to save myself. How long can I truly hold out like this? How much mooore can I take of being unable to say basic words without reminders that I am becoming a cow?

Day 22

This is my very first experience with milking. I have the machine out of the box, and am applying the cups to my nipples as I begin this recording. The feeling washing over me is not a particularly helpful one; as I sit there barely able to stay in my pants and with no top to speak of able to contain my chest anymooore, the changes coming over my body remain infuriating. I hear just slightly differently now, and I am eternally aware in all I do that my ears are that of a cow now. I woke up in the night multiple times to a thudding noise, only to find that it was my own tail smacking against the mattress, driving me crazy as I struggle to figure out how to drown out that sound.

Okay, here it is. I am turning on the machine now and--ahh, oh my god! Moooo. This is the mooost--I cannot begin too--you can hear for yourself. The moooans. They're coming out as moos. I should be humiliated, but instead I feel only a pleasure getting even fiercer as I accept the pleasures ruling me. Mooo. The pumping and suction against my nipples is all I need right now, and as the milk is extracted from me I... Oh, I'm such a dirty girl. I'm so--no, what is--I don't know where these thoughts are coming from but I just--mooo. Mooo. Oh my god, the pleasure is making me feel like such a...

Oh my god I'm a filthy, fat titted cow whore who needs to be milked! I can't fight this anymooore. I'm tearing off my pants, tossing them aside, and jamming fingers into my dripping, greedy cunt. I've been so horny! Such a horny, dumb cow slut who's been lying to her own diary about how much she needs this. Every night I've been fondling my big cow tits and fingerfucking myself, and I can't pretend otherwise anymooore. I don't know why I act like such a stingy bitch afraid of her own body; I love how sensitive my fat tits feel and how much wetter my pussy is now.

The milking machine is taking everything and it feels so good to be milked, like my puffy nipples are getting sucked on. Every pump tugs against them, and I feel the milk spurt out, and it's such a sexual experience to be milked. If nobody will come drink from these huge udders, then I'm happy to let this machine suck on my titties instead, drain out all this milk. I produce so much milk, because I'm a good, fertile little cow slut. Mm, mooo. My arm is getting so from fingerfucking myself so fast, but I need mooore of it. Please, keep sucking, drain me! Mooo! moo! Fuck, moo, moo, fuck! I'm cumming!

I can't stop. My hand is mooving on its own now, I'm fucking myself so hard and it won't stop. I told myself this machine would let me collect samples of my breast milk so I could better examine it and find out if there was something in there I should be afraid of. I think I just drink it instead. Warm, fresh milk from my own titty, goes down so warm and so--oh, I'm cumming again! Already. I'm multi-orgasmic now, this has never happened before! I love this. I love being me, I love being such a needy, horny cow bitch who can't help herself! Mooo!

Day 23

Yesterday was an embarrassment. I am moortified to even look at the logs in hindsight. They seem to be hours of me masturbating and degrading myself while I am milked. I did not find sense until mooorning, and by then, I hardly felt good about what I had done and what I was. The effect remains frightening, as I seem to lapse into fugue states of arousal that I cannot control myself through. I believe I confessed as much during the log, but I have found myself masturbating through hours during the night. Trying simply to tame myself and my thoughts. They come and go in waves, it seems; it is never as easy or as simple to say that I am one thing or another.

The mental effects being temporary and bringing with them such helplessness does, however, make it difficult to control the experiments. My attempts to keep steady and focused on the tasks before me are in constant jeopardy, and I'm never sure when one will strike. This mooorning, I milked myself and while difficult to control, I found myself able to handle the worst of it. The inconsistency is another danger I am left now to live with as I try to reverse this process, never certain of when these problems will strike and when I will find myself struggling to do anything properly. Functioning eludes me now, as I fall deeper into a confused mess of uncertainty, never knowing how bad a situation will be until I am in it.

It's not my fault I'm such a nasty, hungry bovine bitch.

Excuse me. I'm sorry, those comments just happen sometimes. It feels like there is another me inside of me, pleading to get out.

I want to run free in the fields with my big, milky tits swaying in the wind!

This log is over. I can barely hold on at this stage, I'm going to force myself to bed early and hope that this clears up.

Day 23, log two, twenty minutes later.

Dear diary, today my huge cow titties are so big that when I sit down they squish against my plump thighs and drip a little bit of milk out of them, because these huge udders are so full all the time! I'm such a good bovine slut, so thick and curvy with my big, fuckable, fat ass begging for someone to pound it. Don't listen to me when I'm being a stuck up bitch pretending she doesn't like it. I love my body and I love being a dumb, docile submissive fuck cow, even when I only have myself to play with. I'm ordering sex toys right now. Big ones. My fingers aren't enough to satisfy my needs. I need something hard and thick I can jam into myself.

Moo, I'm done fighting against this. I love my body so much and I shouldn't be afraid of it anymooore. I make such a hot cow, with a pretty face and big blue eyes... My eyes have become wider. They make me look softer and mooore docile, and I am. I'm a pretty, fat titted girl who doesn't want any mooore troublesome science thoughts in her head anymoore. I just want to lie around milking my huge tits, which are so big now that they've doubled the width of my silhouette. I love the way they hang out, the way no clothes can fit them any moore, and even if they did, my big nipples would just rub up against them and leak milk through my clothes anyway.

I hope I'm even dumber. I hope tomoorrow I can't even say hormooone. I want to have every smart thought ripped out of my head while I jam big toys up my cunt and moo so loud that I can't hear my own thoughts anymooore. Fuck me empty, fuck me stupid. Just totally pound every thought out of my head so I can be the dumb cow I'm meant to be!

Day 25

My breasts seem to have evened out in their growth as of two days ago. They have halted, but done so at ludicrous proportions several times the size of my head, resting now on my legs as I sit. They seem impossible to cover up or put into clothing now, as they hang so low that any shirt would simply have to hang over my breasts and further down, but even then I do not see how that would even be helpful to me. It only furthers my belief that there isn't much of a solution here. Attempts to analyze my breast milk have gone completely without result, as I fail to even isolate a single thing about my DNA that even registers a change. By all metrics I have looked at, I am still me, but I am also in so many ways not, and it leaves me less certain of how to handle what I'm doing. My experiments must continue, at any rate; I will find a cure.

Day 26

[...] and this is my favorite. It flops around so much, and it's almooost as big as a real horse is. Mm, lemme spread my big legs open and jam those bad boy into my hot cunt. I'm so fucking horny, let me just--oh fuck, it's so big! Mooo! Good boy, good horsie, pound your little fuck cow bitch. I'm a busty barn yard bimbo and I want to be fucked! Where's the milking machine? I want to fuck myself until I black out while I get milked. I need this.

Day 27

I am dangerously close to my wit's end now. The waves of arousal are becoming more regular and distracting moore and mooore of my day. I have not made progress in about two weeks on the actual meat of this research, as I fumble about looking for any vector I can even begin treatment on. It's too much. I'm hopeless, and left wondering if it is even worth changing. Partly for how it's gotten in the way, and partly because...

I have to walk this line very carefully in speaking, so that it's clear who this is coming from. I like it. I like periods of feeling dumber and caring only about getting off. Milking myself is becoming an enjoyable several times a day ritual. Even with myself the sex has been amazing, and I find that there is less and less reason to keep wanting to change back. I can adapt. I can find new clothes, lead a life around this. If I keep my appetites in check, I can continue my research and lead two lives. Perhaps that is the best option before me now. Perhaps it's the only option. 

Day 28

I'm such a dumb bitch that i only realized today my fat titties are so huge I can pull one up and suck on them! Schlorp schlup moo schurlp. Moo, my milk tastes too good. Fresh from the tit. I ordered a few new things but my favorite is the mirror. I love looking at my new, thick body in the mirror while I touch myself, and seeing my cute, floppy ears. I'm so adorable. I make such a pretty cow slut, don't I? I want to enjoy myself now. There's no going back, I'm stuck this way. My body is finally ready, and now I can finally do my work in peace, but I can also keep milking my big titties all the time. I think I'm getting closer to being so sensitive that I can cum from being milked; the growth may have stopped, but I'm still getting so much moore sensitive.

Day 29

I will be changing over the logs to a new project as of tomooorrow. This is the final report on this experiment, as the dangers of using these treatments on anybody else are extreme. I fear there may be a real danger that I have stumbled on, and I don't wish my condition on anybody else. Certainly not. But that said... I am now wearing a bell around my neck. A big bell. I feel confident in myself now. I will live my life as the foremoost medical expert in the world, but also as a cow woman. That is my only choice. I can balance the two, I'm sure of it. Just some work, and I can be the horny, dirty, slutty cow bitch who...

It needs work. I need to--oh, god, I need work. I need to get something in me. Experiment concluded. Final report: rousing success, and I've never been happier! Moo!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this depravity, why not follow me on twitter https://twitter.com/nidoran_duran and get updates on my new and upcoming stories?


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